


Our Little Secret

by Bittyab18



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy & Wells are best friends & roomates, Clarke & Wells are childhood best friends, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, M/M, Rivalry to Romance AU, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, “We hate each other but we both have a mutual friend so we have to put up with each other” AU.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittyab18/pseuds/Bittyab18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking off her engagement to Finn Collins, Clarke Griffin moves to Philadelphia, where her best friend since they were practically in the womb, Wells Jaha, lives. Except there is one problem. Wells' roommate, Bellamy Blake, drives Clarke up the wall. Why the hell did he have to be so damn attractive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "You're Clarke?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke ends her engagement from Finn and shows up at Wells' apartment, possessions and cat in tow, looking for a place to crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REWRITE! God, these four chapters are a mess. Doing a major edit on them and then going to update with the next chapter shortly. Thanks for reading!
> 
> There was a thing about Bellamy and Wells being friends and roommates going around tumblr, complete with them referring to themselves as "Bells and Wells," and I just couldn't get it out of my head. Thus, this little thing was born. I have no real plan with it at this time, so I'm likely going to incorporate a bunch of tumblr prompts into this world of "Bells and Wells as roommates."
> 
> I don't own the "Bells and Wells" tumblr thing. I know I shared it on my tumblr when I came across it, but I can't for the life of me remember who created the thought process, so I want to make it clear that I DID NOT COME UP WITH IT! If anyone knows who was the original creator, please let me know, because I want to give them credit where credit is due.
> 
> This fic will be told from both Clarke and Bellamy’s points of view. I may potentially throw in an occasional passage told from the point of view of Wells and some other people in the 100 world. I will also add tags, relationships, and characters as they come up in the story! Enjoy!

_“Hi, you’ve reached Bells and Wells. We’re not available right now, so leave a message after the beep! Thanks!”_ Clarke rolled her eyes as she listened to Wells’ voice, waiting for the aforementioned beep. She tucked the cordless phone for her landline between her cheek and her shoulder, and continued to fold her clothes. As soon as she heard the beep, she dropped the shirt she was folding onto the lumpy pile on her bed. She sat down next to the neatly folded stack.

“Hey, Wells. You and your roommate should really change that atrocious message. ‘Bells and Wells?’ Seriously?” She rolled her eyes as she pushed her messy blonde hair off her forehead to keep the wisps from falling into her eyes. “Anyways, call me back, kid. I’ve got some news. Love you.” She ended the call and dropped the phone onto her bed. She returned her attention to the clothing.

Clarke reached for the shirt that she’d dropped precariously on top of the unfolded pile. She wished that she could wave a magic wand, and then everything she had to do in such a short time frame would be finished quickly. She also wished like hell that her life wasn’t in shambles right now, and she wouldn’t need to be doing all of this in the first place.

“Hey.”

She jumped slightly, knocking over the pile of neatly folded clothes. She tightened her hands into fists, glancing over her shoulder to glare at the insufferable ass that was her ex.

“Sorry,” Finn said, running a hand through his unkempt brown hair. Clarke had always fancied his chin-length hair, thinking that it was charming in that hipster kind of way. Now, she found it annoying and gross, just like the rest of him. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the memories of his stringy hair falling into her eyes when he was on top of her in bed.

“Fuck you.” She groaned at the knocked over pile of clothes and decided to instead gather them all up in her arms and dump them, unfolded, into the giant suitcase she’d placed on the bed, wrinkles be damned.

“C’mon, Clarke. Can we just talk about this?” Finn came forward and placed a hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” She spat, shrugging off his hand. She gathered up the last of her clothing and shoved it into the suitcase. Her mother had always chastised her for having such a limited wardrobe, but it was because of moments like these that she felt relieved that she prescribed to a minimalistic philosophy when it came to clothing. She closed the suitcase and zippered it shut, considering it to be a metaphor on the ending of her life with Finn.

“Seriously, Princess. It was a one time thing.” She sucked in a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. It might have been a single occurrence when it came to her walking in on him hooking up with his secretary, Candace, at his office, but she knew it definitely wasn’t a one time thing when it came to his infidelity. _She_ was proof enough of that.

Clarke didn’t like telling that story. She didn’t like thinking about it, either. She hadn’t told _anyone_ what happened either, not even Wells. No, she and Finn talked about their sweeting at an animal rescue’s pet adoption event held in the park. She was finishing up her senior year in college, earning a dual degree in art and art history. She accepted a position with a small art house in Washington, D.C. as an assistant exhibit executer. She found a cute, one-bedroom apartment to rent following graduation. All that she needed to complete her happy life was a boyfriend and a cat. So, off to the pet adoption event she went, where she met Finn Collins, a volunteer with one of the local rescues, and a white cat with a gray smudge that traveled up from the tip of her pink nose to paint over both of her eyes like little eyebrows. She named the cat Cindy, short for Cinderella, which prompted Finn to start calling Clarke “Princess.” He was handsome and charming, flirting up a storm with her, and finally, he asked her to coffee. She agreed, completely smitten.

That was the story that they’d told friends and family, but there was more to it than that. A month into their relationship, Finn’s other girlfriend showed up at his place, saying that she’d moved to town. Clarke had broken down in tears, finding out that she was the other woman and that her beloved Finn had lied to her all along. Finn had come to her apartment, convinced her to take him back, to forgive him, but he couldn’t officially end things with Raven, because she had nowhere to go and was living at his apartment. Clarke and Finn continued their relationship in secret, while Finn was publically involved with Raven. It lasted three months—three months of lying and cheating—before Raven wised up and realized that Finn was still fucking Clarke on the side, and she dumped him. Finn came rushing to Clarke, telling her that it was finally over between him and Raven. Eight months later, Clarke and Finn decided that she would not renew her lease on the cute one-bedroom apartment she was residing in the following month, and she and Cindy moved into Finn’s apartment.

A year passed, and Finn had broken Clarke’s heart _again_. He’d cheated on her with his secretary from the law office where he worked as a legal assistant while he attended law school. She wondered how many other women he’d slept with behind her back throughout their two year relationship. She swallowed, looking down at the small gold band with the single round diamond on her left hand. The ring was a lie, just like their relationship was a lie, just like the words that came out of Finn’s mouth were a lie. The phone rang, and she reached for it.

“Clarke, please believe me. You’re what I want. It was a mistake. A one time thing. It _won’t_ happen again.”

The phone continued to ring. Are those the same words that he’d said to Raven while he took her to bed just hours after he’d begged for Clarke’s forgiveness and kissed every inch of her body three times over? “I don’t believe you,” she whispered. The answering machine picked up, and she could hear her own happy voice coming from the living room. _“Hi, you’ve reached the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Collins! Leave a message!”_

“Hey, I got your message. You sound weirder than usual. Also, Bellamy told me to tell you that you can bite him, because he came up with the Bells and Wells thing, and he thinks it’s great. Call me back.” The answering machine clicked off, and Clarke reached up to swipe the stray tear that slipped from the corner of her eye.

“Where are you gonna go?” Finn asked with a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Philadelphia seems like a great place to start over.” She said firmly. Wells was in Philadelphia. He’d always told her that she could come there whenever she needed to, that she always had a place there if she needed to get away and clear her head. She was going to take him up on that offer. She had some money set aside—money that she’d intended to use for the wedding—so, she could afford the move and to start over, with no clear plan, for a little while. It was money that her dad left her after he died, when she was part of the way through college. She hadn’t touched the money and instead left it in a savings account for the day when she needed it most. Well, she was most definitely going to be using that money now.

Clarke turned and faced Finn. She pulled the ring off of her finger and pressed it into his chest. “Goodbye, Finn.”

* * *

“It’s your turn, dude.” Wells nodded towards the door. “It’s probably one of your _friends_.” He laughed, landing a light smack on Bellamy’s bicep with the back of his hand.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, setting his beer bottle down on the end table beside the couch. He was so not in the mood to miss the basketball game that he and Wells were watching just to answer the door. If it were one of his current flavors of the week, he’d find a way to work that irritation out in his bedroom. He shot Wells a smirk as the knock n the door started up again, this time more aggressive and insistent.

“Alright! Alright! Chill the fuck out,” he muttered as he turned the knob and pulled the door open. On the other side of the door was a pretty, petite blonde, all curves and curls, with bright blue eyes and a tortured expression on her face. She was beautiful—exactly his type—but a girl he’d never bedded before. She was also Wells’ friend. He recognized her from the pictures that Wells had set up around his half of the room after they’d been assigned to the same door room their freshman year of college, nearly seven years before—the same pictures that decorated their apartment now, intermingling with Bellamy’s pictures of him and his baby sister. He’d never met her before, but he was pretty sure her name was Jas.

* * *

_Bellamy swallowed as he looked at the expensive shit that his rich as hell roommate had brought to their dorm. He’d supplied the mini-fridge, the microwave, and the TV. He also had a laptop and printer on his desk, too. Bellamy had to handwrite all of his papers and assignments and go to the library to type them up and print them out. His mom couldn’t afford to buy him that kind of shit. He was jealous as hell, but he held it back, because he didn’t want to make life living with the rich fucker miserable._

_“Bellamy,” he grunted. He dropped the cardboard box that contained nearly all of his clothes in on top of the unclaimed mattress on the opposite side of the room. He held his hand out to the black guy that was unpacking his suitcase._

_“Hi, Bellamy. I’m Wells.” Wells took Bellamy’s hand and gave him a wide smile as he shook it. “I see you don’t have a printer or whatever, so if you ever need to borrow mine, you totally can.”_

_Bellamy nodded, shocked because the rich fucker was actually nice. He wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks.” He wandered over to the cork board that Wells’ had hung up above his desk. His eyes traced over the pictures that Wells had displayed. There were a number of pictures of Wells and a couple Bellamy assumed to be his parents. Then, Wells and just the man Bellamy thought was his father. There were just as many pictures of Wells with his friends. There were a few pictures of Wells with a pretty blonde, and a few pictures of him and two guys. There was also quite a few pictures of him, the blonde, and the two guys._

_"Those are my best friends--Clarke, Monty, and Jas." Wells smiled fondly at the picture. "They're great. All three of them are a year behind us. They all applied to school, early decision last spring, and Clarke's going to Georgetown, but Monty and Jas are both headed to MIT. We'll be spread out all over the place." He frowned. "Am I an asshole, because I was hoping they would've followed me to UPenn? Like, we all could've been together. Philadelphia is far enough away from D.C., but Clarke's staying in D.C. and Monty and Jas will be in Boston. It sucks."_

_"I mean...no? I dunno. I've lived here my whole life. My family and friends are here..." Bellamy could feel the weight in the room and figured that Wells must be feeling homesick already. So, what better way to cut the tension and get away from the little heart-to-heart he was having with a guy he barely knew than to make a crack about the hot blonde chick in the pictures. "You date Blondie?"_

_Wells blinked for a moment, and it seemed like for a moment he struggled with abrupt conversation change. Then, he realized what Bellamy had asked, and his face soured. He shook his head hard. "Fuck no! She's like my sister. We've been friends since we were practically in the womb. Her parents and my dad have been friends for ages." He paused. "Well, there was that time when I was fourteen and came home from a trip to Paris with parents and I realized that she got boobs...because they, like, were there over night. We weren't even gone for a two weeks, Bellamy, and suddenly she had boobs. I thought I liked her for the rest of the summer, as more than my best friend, but then I hit high school and she was still in middle school, and I realized she was just a friend."_

_"Ahh...been there...hot senior girls, right?"_

_"The hottest!" Wells laughed. "I like you, Bellamy. I can already tell you're gonna be a great roommate."_

* * *

Bellamy stared at the blonde, who appeared to be clutching a cat carrier in one hand and the handle of a rolling black suitcase in the other. The suitcase was huge, too. He furrowed his brow at the meowing that came from the cat carrier. Fucking cats. He hated cats.

“I need to see Wells.” Her voice was a little deeper than he’d thought it would be. She pushed past him, ignoring his grunt of irritation when the suitcase rolled over his foot. “Wells,” she called out pitifully, setting the cat carrier down and releasing the hold she had on the suitcase.

Bellamy watched, dumbfounded as Wells jumped up from the couch, rushing forward to pull the blonde into his arms. He squeezed her tightly, burying his face into her neck, and she seemed to hug him just as tightly. Their embrace reminded him of the ones he shared with Octavia whenever she came home from break at school. Wells and this Jas girl were like night and day--she was all light skin, hair, and eyes, which were the complete opposite to Wells' dark skin, hair, and eyes. Bellamy and Octavia, on the other hand, had the same coloring, lightly tanned skin (although, he was darker, because his father had been FIlipino, but O's was just Greek, like their mom) and dark hair. O's eyes were green, like her dad, though.

“Clarke, what are you doing here?” Wells said, releasing the blonde from his grasp just enough to look into her eyes. Wait...she was Clarke? He thought that Clarke was one of Wells’ best guy friends, and the blonde was Jas, short for Jasmine or whatever.

“You’re Clarke?” Bellamy said aloud, running a hand through his messy hair, confused as hell. Wells and Clarke-- _Clarke?_ \--looked at him in confusion and surprise (surprise more-so for Wells than Clarke). He’d always assumed that when Wells would talk about going to visit Clarke at Georgetown or in Maryland or whatever, he’d been referring to one of the guys. He’d never used pronouns, just ' _Clarke’s studying this_ ' or ' _Clarke’s mom is trying to play matchmaker, which is fucking hilarious._ ' There was even the time that Wells had said, ' _Clarke’s girlfriend is a real bitch. I dunno why they’re dating.'_   Which later turned into " _Clarke's engaged._ ' That just further cemented it in Bellamy’s mind that Clarke was a dude. Bellamy had just figured that Clarke’s fiancee was the same bitch of a girlfriend. Fuck, his head hurt. “What? You never used pronouns when talking about her, and I’ve never met your friends from back home. Plus, you said that you thought Clarke’s _girlfriend_ was a bitch, so I assumed you were talking about a dude.” Bellamy waved a hand at Wells, who just rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m not a ‘dude.’” She gave him a saucy expression that indicated she was none too pleased with his assumptions. Yeah, well, he didn't blame her. LGBTQ and whatever other letters there are rights' mattered and shit. Like, he was straight as fuck, but whatever floats your boat and shit.

“Yeah, I can see that now.” He cocked his head to the side. “Girlfriend, huh?”

“I’m bisexual. Don’t be an ass.” She returned her gaze to Wells, ignoring the way that Bellamy’s eyebrows rose at that.

Bisexual, huh? He felt a weird twisting sensation in his stomach, because she was so damn beautiful, and he'd done the threesome thing with two straight girls. That was mostly the two girls being all over him and him attempting to fuck one of them while going down on and fingering the other one. He wondered how hot it would be to have one with a bisexual girl, who'd be just as excited about fucking the other girl as he was.

“What’s going on, Clarke?” Wells' question returned his attention back to the fact that Clarke was standing in the living room of their two-bedroom apartment, with a yowling cat in its carrier and a large suitcase.

“I ended it, Wells.” Clarke waved the back of her left hand at him. “I ended my engagement with Finn.” Well, fuck, Bellamy thought to himself.

“Are you serious? Are you okay? What happened? I never liked that pompous asshole, anyway.” Wells pulled Clarke back into his arms and squeezed her tightly. Bellamy watched her tense before she returned the hug.

“He fucked his secretary.” She said as she stepped back from the hug. She moved towards the cat carrier, unlatching it, allowing the small, lithe body of a white cat slip out and into her arms. “Cindy and I are moving to Philadelphia. I quit my job and moved out of the apartment.” She looked back and forth between Wells and Bellamy. “Would it be okay if Cindy and I crashed here for a little while until we both find a place?”

“Yes,” Wells said at the same time that Bellamy said, “ _no_.”

“Bells, seriously? She needs a place to crash.” Wells shot him an irritated look, puffing out his chest like he usually did when he was gearing up for a fight. Thankfully, the two of them hadn’t had many of them, because fighting with your roommate and good friend sucked.

“I don’t care about her, but the cat’s gotta go.” Clarke glared at him, tightening her hold on the cat in her arms.

“Cindy’s a great cat. She’s smart and sweet and hardly gets in the way. She just likes sleeping on pillows and laps and getting lots of pets.” She rubbed her nose into the cat’s fur.

“Well, I’m...um…” Bellamy hesitated slightly, because he didn’t exactly have a reason for why the cat needed to go beyond that he didn’t like them after an incident when he was a kid and his neighbor’s cat attacked him pretty bad. Ever since then, he’s avoided cats like the plague. “I’m allergic!” He called out, earning an eyeroll and a sigh from Clarke.

“I don’t believe it, because you’d be sneezing just being this close to her.” He frowned, because he was out of excuses, and he didn’t want to look like an idiot by telling the truth--that he was slightly afraid of cats. “It’s not forever, Mr. Sourpuss, so relax. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

And, with that, Bells and Wells became Bells, Wells, and Clarke (and, well, Cindy).


	2. Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy really hates cats, but Cindy seems to love him. Clarke and Bellamy get to know each other a bit further. Or, at least, they make assumptions about each other that does nothing but make things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy started out as such a puppy in this chapter. I love it. He’s scared of cats and a closeted cuddler. I just want to wrap him up in my arms. I don’t even like cuddling, but I’d cuddle with this goober. Then, he ruins it with his big mouth. *Sigh*

Bellamy felt a weight press onto his chest. The weight was warm, and he shifted in his sleep, sighing. He always kicked women out before they could notice, but he loved to cuddle. There was nothing he loved more, in fact. When he was a kid, and his mom had to work, the responsibility of taking care of his baby sister was thrust upon him. His mom worked as a laundress and a seamstress, and she was always busy, mending or washing other people’s clothes and linens, whereas seven year old Bellamy was clutching a squirming seven month old to his chest, murmuring soft and sweet words as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. It was from that moment he got hooked on the feeling of another body being pressed against his chest, feeling their weight and warmth, the steady thumping of their hearts against his, the smell of their sweet skin (and babies smelled especially sweet)—all of that made his heart pound faster and his head clear with a sereneness that he’d yet to find anywhere else in the world, even in his books and his history and his need to be active.

While Bellamy loved cuddling, he didn’t like to cuddle with just anyone. It had to be someone who meant something to him, so he was completely comfortable with laying on the couch or on the floor or on the bed beside his sister, with her tucked into his side, head on his chest, as they watched a movie whenever she came home from school. He hated that she was going to school in the Midwest, far away from him, when it had been the two of them for so long. Sure, their mother was there, but she was an outlier when it came to the relationship that he and Octavia had. Bellamy also had a tendency to cuddle with his best friends, guys and girls alike. He didn’t care who it was. Hell, him and Wells had snuggled on the couch every now and again, and neither one of them felt insecure about their masculinity or worried for a second that it made them gay or whatever. They just wanted to feel companionship and connection. His best friend from high school, Miller, was his favorite person to cuddle with prior to moving in with Wells. Miller lived in Philly with his boyfriend, so they didn't do as much cuddling anymore. No matter. He had Wells.

Bellamy didn’t cuddle with the girls he fucked. He didn’t hold them in his arms after sex. No, he rolled away from them, grabbed his boxers to tug on after tossing away the condom. The way he allowed himself to get close to them, if he was feeling particularly sentimental, was to use certain positions that would require their bodies to be pressed closely together. He was a fan of fucking a girl from behind, her back pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped firmly around her body as they rocked together. Sometimes they would be lying on their sides; other times, she would have her body half-tucked over a pillow, partially on her side, partially on her stomach, as he rested his weight mostly on her, thrusting into her. Another position he was a fan of was a girl in his lap, with one of his arms wrapped around her waist to keep her chest pressed to his, the other behind him, supporting his weight, as he fucked up into her. Then, there was always missionary, which allowed him to get up close and personal with whomever he was sleeping with.

The weight on his chest shifted, and a soft rumble that started from whatever was lying on his chest and spread through his body, as if someone had left a vibrating mass on his chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just confusing, so he opened a single eye and found himself face to face with a cat, a cat whose light blue eyes were boring into his as she purred from her perch on his chest. The cat seemed to perk up when she realized he was awake, because she shifted again, stretching out her paws slightly, and she began kneading the flesh of his chest, her nails extending enough to prick his skin through his tank top and getting caught in the fabric.

“Aww, fuck, no! Off!” He growled, reaching up to push the cat off his chest. She yowled loudly, not out of pain (he didn’t even push her that hard), but instead out of irritation over the fact that he had pushed her away from him. She continued to yowl where she sat beside him on his bed, her tail flicking back and forth slightly, indicating her displeasure. He rolled his eyes, reaching up to rub his chest where her nails had dug into his skin as she attempted to stay attached to his chest as he pushed her away. “Get out, cat.” He grumbled, climbing out of his bed. He turned around, ready to shoo the cat from his bed further, but instead he saw her curling up in the space where his body had last been, her back against the cushion of his pillows. She mewed softly as she tucked her face into her paws, and he momentarily softened before he got irritated again. Why the fuck did the cat have to harass him?

Bellamy made his way out of his bedroom, running a hand through his messy hair. He made no attempt to keep quiet as he walked into the shared living, dining, and kitchen space of the apartment. Clarke, Wells’ childhood best friend and all around hot girl who was definitely _not_ named Jas after all, was stretched out on the couch, sound asleep, with one arm thrown over the back of it, a leg jutting out, foot grazing the floor. Her hair was a mess of blonde curls, thrown haphazardly across her face and the pillow that she’d pulled out of her suitcase the night before. He walked over to her, reaching out to tap her foot with his own. “Clarke,” he grunted. She barely stirred, only turned her head away from him. “Clarke,” he said a little louder, nudging her foot with his own more firmly.

“Mmmph,” she hummed in her sleep, kicking out blindly and hitting him in the shin with her foot. She had yellow nail polish painted on her toenails, he noticed. He took a moment to study her, her face relaxed with sleep, the curve of her right breast beneath her tank top, the other hidden beneath the blanket that was bunched slightly in the space between her left side and the couch. She really was beautiful, but she was also taking over his couch for God knows how long, and her freak of a cat was currently in his bed.

“Clarke,” he groaned, stepping over her leg to crouch down beside her. He proceeded to poke her fleshy side, until she jerked up, smacking him in the face with her hand as she jumped. “Fuck!”

“What the hell!?” Clarke pressed a hand to her chest in the same way that Bellamy pressed a hand to his nose. “What are you doing?”

“Your cat is in my bed. Get it out.”

“ _Cindy_ is a _she_ , not an _it_.” She corrected him instantaneously, glowering as she ran a hand through her messy curls, pulling them out of her face. “You’re such an ass.” She muttered, reaching out to push him away from her, grinning when he fell back onto his ass. He groaned, laying down on the floor, not caring that he was wearing nothing but a tank top and a pair of boxers.

“I don’t give a fuck. Get the damn cat out of my bed. Keep her out of my room, or she goes to the pound.” She gasped, kicking at him, hitting him in the upper thigh with her cold toes. She kept kicking at him, so he caught her foot and held onto it. “Keep kicking me, and you lose your foot.” He told her, his eyes shut.

“Give me my foot back, jackass.” She pulled hard so that her foot slipped from his grasp. He sighed, sitting up.

“Whatever. I’m going for a run. I want the cat out of my bed by the time I get back.” He told her as he stood up and made his way back to his bedroom. He dressed quickly for his run, shooting another glare at her as he made his way out the door of the apartment.

* * *

Clarke rolled her eyes as the door slammed shut behind Bellamy. She continued to stretch from where she was perched on the couch. Wells and Bellamy had purchased a surprisingly comfortable couch for their apartment, so she really had no issue with sleeping on it. She had insisted to Wells that she should sleep on the couch, considering it was her that was inconveniencing them. She was the one who was unemployed and homeless at the moment. She finally stood up, folding up the blankets she’d used to cover her body the night before, sitting them on top of her pillow, which she placed on top of her closed suitcase. She glanced around the living space of the apartment, noticing that the apartment was sparse when it came to decorations, aside from the framed photographs hanging on the walls and littering available surface tops. There was a single corner, that seemed to be bare of clutter or furniture, and it was there that she decided to set up her easel when she finally traveled down to her car for her art supplies. She wanted to paint some artwork for Wells (and, well, Bellamy, too, since he was a package deal with Wells at the moment) as a thank you for letting her crash at their place for a bit.

She glanced at the time on her phone, seeing that it was just a little past seven in the morning. She ordinarily liked to sleep until nine or ten, at least when she didn't have anywhere to be, and she knew that Wells was very similar to her, so he wasn’t going to be up for hours. She yawned, figuring she could make coffee, but she knew she better get her cat from Bellamy’s room before he threw a temper tantrum. He seemed like the type. She tiptoed her way down the hall to Bellamy's room, opening the door, trying to keep as quiet as possible so as to not disturb Wells. She didn’t know what she was expecting when she stepped into Bellamy’s room, but she certainly wasn’t expecting what she found. His room was neat, orderly, with each item in its set place. There was a covered hamper in one corner, a tall dresser and a short dresser with an attached mirror against the wall opposite to the bed, which was tucked into the corner, against the wall. He’d set up two long, body-sized pillows as buffers against the hard wall.

There were huge bookcases taking up the expanse of the other wall, stopping just next to the doorway. Every inch of the bookcases were filled with books, thick volumes with cracked spines mostly littering the shelves. She scrunched her nose as she ran her fingers along the books, many she did not recognize, in languages she couldn’t understand. She was pretty sure that most were in Latin, while others were in Greek, Italian, German, and French. There were even a few in a language she didn’t even recognize, but was curious to ask about at a later date, when Bellamy wasn’t being a big jerk that made her want to punch him in the face. The rest of the bookcases had random books, everything from Tolstoy to Lewis, from Fitzgerald to Austen, from Twain to Joyce. It appeared the Bellamy was a bit of a book snob, from what she could tell.

Clarke heard a muffled purr, and she glanced over to find Cindy curled up in a ball in the middle of the mussed sheets on Bellamy’s bed. She grinned, walking over to her cat, sitting down on his bed to run her fingers across the cat’s soft, luxurious fur. Cindy rolled slightly, exposing more of herself for Clarke’s touch. Clarke closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the cat’s fur. She yawned again, breathing in the sweet, spicy, and _masculine_ scent that was Bellamy. She felt her eyelids droop. She stretched out slightly, laying her head down next to Cindy’s just shy of his pillows, continuing to run her fingers through the cat’s fur. Before she realized it, she found herself shifting herself onto his bed completely, her head on his pillow, with Cindy tucked into her side, falling asleep, surrounded by the smell of Bellamy.

* * *

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bellamy groaned, returning from his run, sweaty and in dire need of a shower, coffee, and pancakes. He kicked off his shoes the moment he'd walked through the door to his room, leaving them by the little shoe rack he'd built for himself to store his shoes, ready to strip and grab his towel to go shower, only to realize that not only was the damn cat still _not out of his bed_ , but that Clarke had fallen asleep in it. He felt a spasm in his gut at the image of her in his bed, and soon he was imagining the ways he'd rather have her in his bed--naked and squirming. He shook his head, moving to his drawers to pull out some clothes to change into when he got back from his shower. He left them on top of his dresser, stripping off his running clothes and walking, _naked_ , to the hamper to drop them in. It was his room, so even if she woke up right then and there (and it wasn’t like he was trying to keep quiet), he wasn’t going to try and hide his nudity. He grabbed the towel off of the hook on the back of his bedroom door, wrapping it around his waist, before he made his way to the bathroom.

Bellamy took a longer shower than usual, one that was with mostly cold water as he tried to will himself to not get a hard on over the fact that there was a hot girl in his bed. When he finally felt like he could get out, he dried off quickly before walking back into his room. Clarke was still asleep in his bed, one arm looped around his pillow, the other draped over her cat. The stupid cat was purring away, but her eyes were open as she watched him from the bed. She was kneading her paws into Clarke’s stomach, something that she seemed to do when she was content. He rolled his eyes, hanging the towel on the back of his door before walking over to his dresser once more.

He bent over, stepping both feet into the leg holes of his boxers and began pulling them up and over his knees. He smirked at the huff that he heard from the bed as he finished hiking the boxers over his hips. 

"Nice ass." Clarke muttered as she rolled her eyes. She sat up in his bed, stretching slightly, making her shirt ride up slightly, revealing the pale, creamy color of her stomach and a hint of a pierced navel. 

“You should see the other side.” He winked at her through the mirror as he reached for his hair gel. He squirted some into his palm, rubbed his palms together, and ran his hands through the ends of his hair. He was going for his usual style of messy, unkempt curls, because that is what his hair looked like without the gel. At least using the gel made it seem like he was  _trying_ to look that way.

“Nah. I’ve decided that I’m going to date a woman next.” She yawned as she ran a hand through her hair. “Men are assholes and only good for one thing.” She rolled her eyes.

“A good fuck? Funny, that’s what I feel about women.” He watched her in the mirror as he added some deodorant to his underarms. He wiped his hands on his boxers before he grabbed a tub of moisturizer to massage into his face. As he rubbed the lotion into his skin, he turned to face her, leaning his lower back against his dresser. She pursed her lips, as she stared at his body, her eyes tracing over him. “Like what you see, Princess?”

“You’re attractive, sure, but you’re annoying.” She told him, crawling slightly so that she was stretched out on his bed, with her head at the end of it. She placed her chin in her hands and supported the weight of her upper body by her elbows. Her legs were bent at the knees with her feet high in the air. “You’re more muscular than Finn, and your cocky attitude is either from a surety that you’re good in bed or bravado that is unfounded.” She cocked her head to the side. “Wells mentioned that you have a lot of conquests and hardly any girlfriends, but the conquests keep coming back for more, so you’re not only a manwhore, but, I'm assuming, a good lay. You know you look good, and you use it to your advantage. I bet you were a bit of a bad boy in high school, and you were so irritatingly charming that you could get away with murder with all of your teachers. From the jammed bookcases, it seems like your well-read, but all of the books on the shelves are kind of pretentious. So, you’re one of those know-it-all types. Right?”

“Right.” He chuckled, reaching for another lotion on his dresser, which he squirted liberally into his palm. He began rubbing the lotion into the skin on his arms, chest, and abs. Her eyes followed the path of his hands, so he flexed his muscles so they were more pronounced as he massaged the lotion into his skin. “My turn?”

“Sure.” She smirked at him, cocking an eyebrow at him, a challenge in her eyes if he ever saw one.

“You’re from money, just like Wells, spoiled by Mommy and Daddy, never having to worry about anything bad until now. I’m guessing you studied something stupid in college, like English or Art History, more interested in getting your MRS than a real degree. You’re actively involved in the same stupid charities and planning parties and events for your hoity-toity fiancé, just like Mommy does for Daddy. You’re only rebellion is the fact that you’re bisexual, and it is likely that you’re so vanilla in bed that your fiancé decided that he needed to get a little action on the side with the secretary. Right?” He couldn’t stop himself as he talked, even when he watched the challenging expression slip from her face, turning into a mask of anger and indifference. He could see it, though, the sadness, hidden in her eyes, even as her jaw tightened and a sneer slipped onto her lips.

“Not right.” She spat, climbing off of his bed. She grabbed the cat into her arms, glaring at him as she stormed past him towards the door. “Not right at all. You’re an asshole, you know that? You know nothing about me, and you purposely said cruel and hurtful things to me, because you could. What I was saying—sure, it was sarcastic and snarky, but it wasn’t hurtful. Wells told me that you own your tendency to sleep around like a badge of honor. I called you charming, attractive, and smart. I wasn’t mean. You’re mean.” She shook her head at him. “I dunno how you convinced one of the most genuine and amazing people in this world to call you his friend. I don’t see it.” She stormed out of his room, leaving him to squeeze his hands into fists.

Bellamy reached out with his hand, slamming the bedroom door shut once more. He groaned, walking over to his bed, falling face down into it, his face buried into his pillows. He sighed even more loudly when he realized that his bed now smelled faintly of strawberries and vanilla from whatever shampoo or lotion Clarke used. Why did she make him out to be the asshole? Even though she said she called him attractive and charming, she also said that he was annoying, manipulative, slutty, pretentious, and cocky. Sure, he was a dick who essentially blamed her for her ex cheating on her, but when he feels rejected or insulted, he had a tendency to lash out, either verbally or physically.

He rolled off his bed, walking over to the dresser to finish redressing. Just as he finished sliding his bare foot into one of his sneakers, his bedroom door opened, revealing a red-faced and irritated Wells. He sighed, crossing his arms as he stared at one of his best friends and roommate. “Can I get coffee first before you tear me a new one?” He waved a hand at Wells, bending over to quickly tie his shoe.

“You’re an asshole, Blake.” Wells grumbled as the two of them exited Bellamy’s bedroom.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Bellamy said as he shut his bedroom door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Clarke is not innocent either. She said some not so nice things to Bellamy, too. Bell was just a bit harsher with his assumptions about her.


	3. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Clarke's past comes into town, and things get a little weird. Octavia comes home from college for a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from another tumblr prompt. This also skips the whole talk with Wells. I don’t think that it is needed to emphasize that they were both wrong, but Bell took it further than necessary.
> 
> Also, I don't remember if I decided to recycle Kate's name from Win a Date here or if this inspired me to chose Kate as Well's girlfriend and Clarke's agent/best friend there.

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Clarke yelled at the top of her lungs. She gathered up the wet clothing that was thrown on the floor in front of the washing machine. They were sopping wet, water dripping and pouring out of the clothing as she held the pile close to her chest.

“God. You have such a shrill voice.” Bellamy sighed as he leaned in the doorway to the little laundry space they had beside the kitchen. He smirked as he watched her turn on her heel and shoot a death glare at him. The water poured down the front of her, soaking her gray t-shirt and light pink cotton capri pants. "I need to do laundry, so I put _my_ clothing into _my_ washer in _my_ apartment. I have work in the morning." His only regret was that the floor might be fucked from all of the soapy water. He'd have to see if he could sop up the water from the linoleum later when she wasn't looking. That security deposit was a bitch, and if he moved out, he would need that money back.

“Oh, would you shut the fuck up about it being your place and all that bullshit? Get over it. I’m staying in the apartment until I get on my feet.” She frowned at the soaking wet clothes in her arms. “You could’ve waited for my clothing to go through the spin cycle.” She snapped. She dumped the wet clothes into a laundry basket. Either she was ignoring the way the water caused her clothes to cling to her body, or she didn't realize it.

“Well, if I waited for the spin cycle, then I wouldn’t have my clothes washed, dried, and ironed tonight. You know, because I leave at six in the morning, because I work at the high school that is in the next town over.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, but people that actually live here with actual jobs who aren’t freeloading couch surfers.” He grinned at her.

He let his eyes trace down her body, enjoying the way that water left her shirt stuck to her breast. She crossed her arms, tensing her jaw at his blatant perusal of her body. They fought, loudly and daily, for the last week that she’d been crashing at his and Wells’ apartment. They fought about everything. First there was the fight about pizza toppings. Clarke wanted mushrooms on her pizza, but he was adamant that no _fungus_ was _ever_ going to grace his pizza. Wells insisted that they order a plain cheese and muttered something about them getting the small, individual-sized pizzas next time. Then, there was the fight about what kind of movie they should watch one night. Clarke had called him a ' _fucking loser nerd_ ' and refused to watch a documentary on George Washington. She then had to show her ignorance and blather on about the stereotypical ' _he didn't lie and he chopped down a cherry tree_.' He freaked out and yelled about how her fancy prep school education really was shitty and told her that he was _not_ going to watch another Reese Witherspoon monstrosity. There were also the never ending fights about that damn cat of hers who seemed to think that his bed was _her new bed_. 

“Get your cat out of my fucking bed.” He turned his back on her, but he heard her sigh as she called out to him.

“Cindy loves your bed. When your clothes are done, I expect you’ll put them back into the washer to finish getting washed?”

“You wish, Princess.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He twisted off the cap, tossing the metal into the recycling bin as he raised the beer to his lips to take a swig with the other hand. She scoffed and stormed past him, causing him to almost choke on the mouthful of beer, because she was wearing nothing but a _wet_ gray lace bralette that left nothing to the imagination and a matching pair of gray lace strong-bikini underwear. His hand dropped to his dick to adjust it as he felt it swell slightly at the sight of her. She was all curves and creamy skin and huge tits. "What the fuck?"

“You got my other clothes soaked.” She shrugged her shoulders, a slight smirk on her lips that widened until it looked like she was have smirking and half baring her teeth at him as she watched him readjust his pants. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Bellamy shook his head as he watched Clarke get a change of clothes. Laughing, he raised the bottle to his lips.

“Do you think that you two could keep from tearing the heads off of each other tonight? I've got a date, and I won't be here to babysit the two of you." Wells sighed as he walked into the kitchen. 

“Date, huh? What’s her name?” He grinned at Wells, wagging his eyebrows at him. 

“Her name is Kate. She’s beautiful, and she’s a nurse.” Wells laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah? You two gonna play doctor tonight?” Bellamy winked.

“Shut the fuck up.” Wells groaned and he playfully punched Bellamy's arm. 

“What are you two laughing about?”

“Bellamy’s a dick.” Wells laughed as Clarke walked over to stand next to him. 

“I could’ve told you that. Hell, I probably have on more than one occasion.” She grabbed the bag of potato chips from the counter top and opened the bag, shoving her hand deep inside of it. 

“Don’t be a bitch, Princess. It’s unbecoming.” Clarke's re-entry to the kitchen had sobered him up. His eyes traced over her, and he noticed that her wet hair was now divided into two pigtail plaits and her face was makeup-free. She was wearing a tank top over a pair of men's boxer shorts. Wait...they were his. She'd stolen them from him. "Hey! Those are mine!"

"Yeah, well, I don't have any clean clothes..."

"You could've worn Wells' shit!"

"You pissed me off, not Wells!"

“I was telling Bellamy that I have a date tonight.” Wells said loudly over their argument that was steadily climbing in volume. 

“Oh, really? With that girl---the one with the pretty smile and the long legs?” She grinned at Wells. “She’s hot. I’d do her.” 

“You’re just as bad as he is. I dunno why you two fight so much.” Wells groaned and shook his head."

“The difference is that I’m way hotter. And, you know, just all around better.” She smirked at Bellamy, and he flipped her the bird in response.

“No one’s hotter…or better than me, Princess.” Bellamy narrowed his eyes. “Although, for a girl, you’re not too bad, I guess.”

“Oh, for a girl. God, you’re such a tool.” Clarke snapped. “Don’t you have laundry to do or something?” She goaded him.

“Don’t you have an apartment to search for or a job to find?” It was her turn to flip him off.

* * *

The next day, Clarke found herself doing her laundry, since Bellamy was a douche bag and left hers in a sopping mess in the laundry basket. She had hoped to do some painting that day, but instead, she was stuck doing her laundry and avoiding calls from Finn. She frowned, pushing some stray hairs out of her face. Cindy purred as she rubbed against Clarke’s legs, as she pulled her clothes from washer.

Just as she started the dryer, there was a knock on the front door. She chewed on her bottom lip, not sure who in the hell could be knocking on the door. She walked over to it, glancing through the peephole. She swallowed, sucking in a deep breath, hesitating before opening the door. “Um, I, uh, um, hey.” On the other side of the door was a beautiful brunette. Shit.

“Hey, Clarke. Long time, huh?” 

“What are you doing here, Raven?” Clarke sniffed, nodding her head. She dropped her head to stare down at her feet. Her pink toenail polish was chipping. She looked up to study Finn’s girlfriend—the one that she continued to help him cheat on.

“I heard that you and Finn called it quits. Sucks.” Raven held up her hands, and Clarke took in the sight of two bottles of booze clutched in them by the necks. “A little Jack and a little Captain.”

“You want to drink with me? That’s why you showed up at my—how in the hell did you find me?”

Raven laughed as she pushed past Clarke. She made her way into the kitchen of Wells and Bellamy’s apartment. She started pulling open cabinets. “Where do these damn boys keep their shot glasses?”

Clarke walked over to the right cabinet, opened it, and pulled out two glasses. She smacked them down onto the counter. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“You know, I’ve known Finn since we were kids.” Raven said as she opened the bottle of Captain Morgan. She poured them both a shot. “Even after…” She shook her head, downing her shot quickly before pouring another. “Even after everything went down with you…the second time…even after all of that, we still talked. He was my family, Clarke. He was my family, and he always will be.” She sniffed and rolled her eyes, and Clarke saw the shimmer of unshed tears in them. “We talked, even though he was with you. We talked, even after you two moved in together. We talked, even after you two got engaged.” She raised her eyes to meet Clarke’s. “It took him a few days after you broke up with him for him to call me. He told me that he kept waiting for you to wise up and come back home, but you didn’t. I asked him why you two ended things, and he said that he made a mistake. I knew then that he pulled the same thing again. He fucked some other girl, because he can’t keep it in his pants. He fucked up a relationship with someone he didn’t have the guts to break things off with, even when he was developing feelings for someone else.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think that he had any real feelings for her. She was just an easy piece of ass.” Clarke squeezed her hand into a fist before downing her own shot.

Raven smirked, refilling the glass the second that it hit the counter surface once more. “Nah, but he should have ended it with you the second he started getting the stirrings in his pants at the idea of fucking her. He likes to believe that he’s still in love with the girl he’s with, but the girl he starts fucking on the side is the one who has his real focus. She’s the one he takes on fancy dates, gives presents to, woos. You know, _you_ were that girl.” 

“Finn told you that I moved to Philadelphia?” Clarke blushed.

“He never liked your relationship with Wells. He told me so. He figured that you were using this whole ‘ _mistake_ ’ as an excuse to finally screw him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not that type of girl. Not anymore.” Clarke licked her bottom lip, avoiding Raven’s gaze for a few minutes. “I know it’s too late, and you have every right to punch me in the face or something, but I am sorry. I’m sorry that I let myself continue to see him, even when I knew that he was still with you. I’m sorry that I continued to take part in something that hurt you. That wasn’t fair. I have no excuse.”

“You thought you loved him. It’s the same reason why I thought that I could just forgive him for doing it in the first place, Clarke. We do stupid things for love.”

Clarke laughed self-deprecatingly, running a hand over the back of her neck. “God, I don’t know what I was thinking! I helped him cheat on someone as beautiful and smart as you. What made me think that I was safe from being cheated on?” She shook her head.

“Hey, now, I know I’m pretty fucking spectacular, and Finn told me that you like to bat for both teams, but I just want to say that I’m most decidedly all about the dick.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching out to bat at the Latina’s arm. “Shut the fuck up.” She picked up her shot glass, holding it out to Raven in a toast. “To cheating bastards.”

Raven smirked, raising her own glass, tapping it against Clarke’s. “To cheating bastards.” She moved the glass to her mouth, pausing for a moment. “And, to new friends.”

Clarke returned the smile. “To new friends.” She whispered back, and the two of them tossed back their shots. “I’d pick you first, you know?”

“That’s because I’m fucking awesome.” Raven winked.

* * *

Clarke and Raven had made it halfway through the bottle of Captain Morgan and put a nice dent in the bottle of Jack Daniels. It was early afternoon, and they were sufficiently buzzed. The dryer had buzzed an hour before, indicating that Clarke’s laundry was finished, so the two girls had drunkenly decided to get the clothes out and begin folding them. Except, that turned into both of them stripping down to their underwear to try on various outfits, which generally turned into them putting on mismatched clothing items and hooking bras around their necks like necklaces or on their heads like hats. “Holy fuck, Clarke! Your tits are huge!” Raven had exclaimed as she pulled one of the cups onto her head. There was clothing strewn everywhere, and Raven was stretched out on the couch, bra hanging off of her head, dangling in her face, covered in a pile of Clarke’s assorted clothing items, dressed in a blouse misbuttoned and a pair of shorts that were on backwards and unbuttoned and unzipped. Clarke was sitting precariously on the corner of the end table, sketchbook in her lap, as she drew Raven. Even drunk, her sketch was better than most people’s sober attempts.

The door to the apartment flew open, and Clarke was so startled that she fell off the end table onto her ass. Raven burst out laughing, screaming that she peed a little, while Clarke moaned from the floor where she landed, legs in the air, leaning against the end table. “Get my clothes off if you’re pissing your pants.” Clarke complained, her words slurring, and she pointed towards the ceiling before scrunching up her face and waving her hand in an attempt to point out the bathroom door to Raven. Raven rolled off the couch and then crawled towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the bathroom.

“Who the fuck are you?” A girl’s voice came thundering across the apartment, but to a non-sober person, it was probably at normal volume.

Clarke attempted to sit up while her legs were still sticking up in the air, which only resulted in her falling over onto her side, smacking her ankles on the couch. “Who the fuck are you? I _live_ here.” She slurred, blinking at the girl (were there two of her?) as she rolled over onto her stomach. “Fuck. No more rum! Rum is bad.” She complained as she lifted herself onto her hands and knees.

“You _love_ here?” The girl asked in confusion.

This made Clarke giggle. Had she said love? “ _LIVE_!” She shouted drunkenly as she reached for the end table to lift herself up onto her knees. “I live here.”

“You live here? Yeah, I don’t think so. My brother lives here, with his best friend, and last time I checked, there were no chicks staying with them.” The girl crossed her arms.

“Brother…fuck, you’re related to the dickhead? I’m sorry.” Clarke pressed a hand to her forehead, opening and closing her mouth a few times. “My mouth feels fuzzy.”

“You’re smashed.” The girl shook her head. “This is pathetic.” The girl stormed towards the kitchen.

Clarke attempted to shift her body onto the couch. She dropped onto her clothes, giggling when she looked down to see that the tank top she had on was bunched up around her bra. She was wearing one of her tube tops as a skirt, a decision that her sober self would likely regret immensely, and a single knee-high striped sock on her right foot. She had a bra dangling from her neck like a necklace. Her hair was falling out of the braids, and she knew she looked like a mess, but she was too drunk at the moment to care.

“Here.” A glass of water was thrust into her face by the girl. Clarke blinked at her before taking the glass and downing it. The girl raised her other hand, holding the purified water pitcher of water that the boys had kept in the fridge, pouring more into the glass the second she’d finished. “Drink.” The girl demanded, so Clarke did as she was told.

“I didn’t pee! I thought I did a little, but I didn’t!” Raven cheered as she wandered back into the living area. She was still wearing the bra on her head like a hat, but it was hanging over her shoulder now, instead of draped over her face. “’Da fuck are you?” She crossed her arms in what Clarke assumed was a threatening pose, but she started to teeter to the side, so one hand shot out to catch herself on the wall. 

“I’m Octavia. Bellamy’s sister. Who are you? Do you live here, too?”

“Nope.” Raven stared at the girl. “Who the fuck is Bellamy?” She asked, pulling the bra off of her head and stumbling over to collapse onto the couch (and halfway onto Clarke).

Clarke giggled, wrapping her arms around Raven’s waist. “Douchebag-asshole-dickhead.” She told her seriously. Raven opened her mouth to respond, but Octavia actually growled at them before they could. This made Clarke's eyes widen in awe, because she sounded like Cindy. “You sound like Cindy when she sees birds.” She whispered (read: spoke in a normal volume).

“Stop insulting my brother.” Octavia snapped.

“When he stops being a dick to me, I’ll stop.” Clarke responded petulantly. “He dumped my clothing on the floor when it was soaking wet and not even finished being washed.” She pouted. “He threatens to take my cat to the pound daily. He’s never quiet in the morning when he gets ready for work even though I’m still sleeping on the couch. He’s mean.” The water was starting to sober her up slightly. She held the glass out, and the brunette rolled her eyes before filling the glass with water again.

“Ooh! Me, too!” Raven grabbed the water from Clarke’s hand, spilling half of it on them before downing the rest of the glass.

Octavia shook her head at them. “What are you two doing here?”

“Our ex cheated on her, so she dumped his sorry ass.” Raven said as she attempted to pour water into the glass without pouring it everywhere, causing Octavia to intervene when she started pouring it on the floor.

“Wells is like my brother, so I moved in.” Clarke said as she pulled the bra over her head in order to no longer wear it like a necklace. She also tugged the shirt down, covering her belly.

“My brother just let you move in?” Octavia asked in surprise.

“Wells got him to agree. I’m homeless. Fiance-less. Jobless.” Clarke pouted.

“I live in Philadelphia now.” Raven exclaimed suddenly.

“Oh, my God, really?” Clarke looked over at her, eyes wide.

“Yeah, moved here after the whole fiasco with you and Finn…the second time.” She scrunched her nose.

“I’m really sorry, Raven. I’m sorry I was such a whore.” She whispered.

“You’re not a whore. You loved Finn, just like me. He’s the whore.” The two girls sloppily hugged, and Octavia scoffed, grabbing the bottle of rum.

“You’re both ridiculous.” She took a single pull from the bottle, looking down at the two intoxicated women in front of her. They were both watching her with widened eyes.

“Bottle.” Raven held her hand out for the bottle.

* * *

Bellamy heard loud music coming from his apartment, and he cautiously opened the door to see Clarke dancing around the living room (fuck, it looked like her suitcase threw up everywhere) in mismatched clothes (was she wearing a shirt as a skirt?) with a Latina woman he didn’t know and his baby sister. Wait. _His baby sister_? What the hell was Octavia doing there? It was a Thursday evening in September. She should be at school. His sister spun around, holding an empty bottle of rum in her left hand, a mostly empty of bourbon in the other, and her face was red.

“Oh, thank God!” Octavia cried out, taking a step towards him, but she stumbled over a shoe. “Shit!”

He tightened his hands into fists, watching as Clarke, whose arm was thrown around the brunette woman he didn’t know, laughed loudly at Octavia’s stumble. The two women were swaying back and forth, and Clarke’s normally pale skin was a deep shade of red. She looked like a total mess—a _hot_ mess, but still a mess. “What the fuck?” He yelled, slamming the door shut, making the three girls jump. Octavia dropped the empty rum bottle, squeaking when the bottle nearly hit her foot. “Are you drunk? Did you get my sister drunk? Have you lost your damn mind!?” He rounded his gaze from Clarke to the unknown brunette to his sister.

“I’m not drunk!” Octavia spat, slamming the bottle of bourbon down on the end table. The unknown brunette dove for the bottle, tripping over another shoe, landing face first into the couch. “No, Raven! No!” She grabbed at Raven, looking over at him. “I didn’t drink. They were like this when I got here. I’ve been trying to keep them from dying.” She groaned as she pulled Raven up onto the couch. “I could use some help.” She snapped at Bellamy.

Bellamy was spurred into action by that, moving towards Octavia and _Raven_ , but he had to make a detour when Clarke wobbled slightly, and her knees started to give out. He caught her in his arms, pulling her against his chest. “I don’t feel good.” She pouted, burying her face into his chest. He sighed.

“Are you going to puke?” He asked her, and he felt the relief settle into his chest when she shook her head. “Is it your head?” She nodded, and he sighed even louder. “C’mon. Time to lie down.” He helped her toward the bedrooms, fulling intending on putting her in Wells bed, but she stumbled again. He paused them, bending down to lift her up into his arms. She wasn’t heavy, but she was drunk, so she was all dead-weight, hanging from his neck by the death grip of her arms wrapped tightly around him, so he deviated from his path to Wells’ room to head into his own, which was closer. He walked over to his bed, cursing lowly to himself when he realized that Cindy was curled up in his bed, too.

“Cindy,” Clarke crowed softly, turning her head to look up at him. “Cindy loves your bed." He put her down gently onto the bed, and she immediately rolled over after tucking her head onto his pillow. Her body curled around the cat's body. "Hi, Cindy," she muttered softly as she buried her face into the cat's fur.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he took in the sight of the infuriating woman in his bed. He reached for the throw blanket folded at the bottom of his bed, shaking it out and laying it over body, sliding her hair out of her face. He then walked over to his dresser, quietly pulling a t-shirt out of dresser and quickly unbuttoning and removing his dress shirt. He pulled the t-shirt on over his khakis. He knew that O was waiting on him to help with that Raven chick, but he needed to get out of his work clothes. He quickly undid his belt while kicking off his brown dress loafers, pushing the pants off of his hips. He shook out his dress pants, folding them and putting them on his dresser before pulling a pair of sweatpants on. He then grabbed his dress shirt from the floor. He tossed the shirt into the hamper and put his shoes onto his homemade shoe-shelf before heading out of the door to help his sister with the other intoxicated girl and to figure out what the hell O was doing here.

“Took you long enough.” Octavia said when he finally reached the living room. Raven was passed out on the couch aith her head perched on Clarke’s pillow. His sister was gathering up Clarke’s clothing, dropping it into the open suitcase. “So, are you fucking the blonde?”

“O,” Bellamy chastised her, grabbing a bra from where it was lying on the floor near the couch. He cocked an eyebrow at it, folding it in half. “I’m not fucking Clarke.” He shook his head.

Octavia rolled her eyes, yanking the bra from his hands, tossing it onto the top of open suitcase. “Oh, sure. She’s pretty. She’s busty. She’s blonde. She’s in your apartment, and you’re willing letting her stay. I believe that.” She rolled her eyes as she gathered up the rest of Clarke’s stuff, dropping it into the suitcase.

“I’m not sleeping with Clarke. She’s annoying as hell.” He responded, tucking another blanket around Raven, after making sure that she was on her side and not going to choke on her own puke, just in case.

“Yeah, but that’s the kind of thing that gets you all hot and bothered. A girl that you can fight with and then fuck.”

“Language, O. Jesus.” He muttered. He grabbed the bottles, shot glasses, and one tall glass. Octavia grabbed the water purifier. The two of them headed into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing here, O?”

“I came home for the weekend. I only have one class on Fridays, and the prof had to cancel because of a funeral that she needed to attend. I figured I’d come home. It’ll be my only time to get home until Thanksgiving. Can’t a girl miss her brother and her mother?”

“Speaking of, did you stop by Mom’s?” Bellamy asked her as he recycled the bottles and then began washing the glasses and the couple of dishes in the sink.

“I just came straight here.” She paused, twisting her fingers. “I’m dating this guy.”

“Oh? You’re already dating someone? You’ve been at college for, like, five minutes. His name?”

“Atom.”

He cocked an eyebrow at his sister. "The fuck kind of name is Atom?"

“Well, it’s James Atom, but he goes by Atom, like Miller goes by Miller.”

“And?”

“And, nothing. He’s a sophomore. He’s a criminology major.” She shrugged. “I like him.”

“He’s too old for you.” Bellamy said immediately.

“Bell, he’s nineteen.”

“And, you’re eighteen. He’s too old for you.”

“Bellamy.” She began, but they heard a slight crash behind them. They turned around, seeing Cindy jump up onto the island. She meowed, walking over to Bellamy, rubbing against his arm. He grimaced, jerking away from the cat. “This the blonde’s cat? She seems to like you.” She giggled.

“I hate cats.” He snapped, shooing the cat away, but she just purred at him. He rolled his eyes, going into the fridge to pull out the organic food that Clarke fed the annoying ball of fur. “Get me a plate?” He asked her, pulling the can cover off of it and grabbing a fork from the dish drainer. Octavia handed a small dish to Bellamy, and he scooped some of the food out onto the plate. Cindy immediately dove onto the plate of food. “When was the last time your mom fed you?” He shook his head. “Was she too busy getting drunk?”

“Yeah, you hate cats, huh?” His sister rolled his eyes at him.

“Shut up, O.”

“I don’t like her.” Octavia spoke quietly.

Bellamy glanced up at her in surprise. “The cat?”

“No.” She shook her head. “The blonde. I don’t like the blonde.”

He studied his sister as he put the cover back on the can. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s trouble.” She told him, staring at the cat. “You know why you came home to two drunk girls? Apparently, the blonde’s boyfriend, fiance, whatever. He cheated on her, right?” He knew all of that. He moved to tell his sister as much, but she held up a hand. “Well, blondie helped him cheat on the one passed out on the couch. _Twice_. She’s not exactly good news, Big Brother. I’m worried about you. When you fall, you fall hard, and I don’t want her to hurt you.”

“O,” he shook his head at her. It wasn’t his business about Clarke’s relationship with her ex or with the girl currently on his couch. Besides, he wasn’t falling for her. She was hot, and she got him all riled up, but that was it. Nothing more was going to happen between them. “Nothing’s gonna happen there. She’s not my type.”

“She’s female. She has boobs. She has a vagina. She’s your type.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “I’m hungry. Feed me. You have me until tomorrow afternoon. That’s when I told Mom I’d go home. Let’s get this reunion show going.” She grinned at him.


	4. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy learns a little more about Clarke, and she learns that he is secretly a huge softie.
> 
> Based on this prompt: "You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think!

“Time to get up, Princess." A pause. "C’mon, get up.”

Clarke stirred, burying her face more firmly into the pillow. She felt someone pull the hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The voice was gruff, deep, irritated, but the hand that tucked her hair behind her ear had slipped to her upper back, gently rubbing small circles on her skin. “No,” she hummed, squeezing her eyes shut, gripping the blankets under her frame. The bed smelled _male_ , and she was comfortable and warm. She didn’t want to move.

“Get up, Princess.”

The hand stopped rubbing soothing circles into her back, but instead moved to poke into the fleshy part of her side. She whined, rolling over onto her back, blinking slightly as she took in a familiar space, with a rather familiar man seated on the bed beside her prone form. “Don’t call me that.” She snapped, finally realizing that Bellamy was referring to her as a princess.

“Why? You are one.”

“Finn used to call me his princess. I don’t exactly have positive feelings associated with the nickname.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, well, you and your friend basically drank two bottles of booze today.”

“Why am I in your bed?” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, grimacing at the cottony feeling.

“You fainted…straight into my arms.” He smirked at her. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

She rolled her eyes. She doubted that she fainted, but when she drank a lot, she tended to go from party animal to someone rather narcoleptic, so that wasn’t exactly a surprised that she passed out. And, despite his rough exterior, he seemed like the rescuing type. She stuck her tongue out at the sarcastic asshole, reaching out to bat at him. He caught her hand by the wrist—her coordination was still very impaired—a thumb tracing over the inside of her wrist, swiping back and forth in a way that made goosebumps erupt on her skin. She pulled at her arm, trying to break his grasp, but he tightened his hold on her.

“Time to get up, Clarke. My sister is tired. It’s after midnight.” Bellamy stood, pulling Clarke by the arm, forcing her to slowly sit up. He released her hand when she was in a seated position, clutching at her head in pain. He reached for a glass of water and the two aspirin tablets that were sitting on his end table. He nudged her shoulder with the fist that he had balled up around the pills. "Here."

She dropped her hand from her head, and he dropped the pills into her palm. They were warm, she noticed. “Thanks, I guess.” She popped the pills into her mouth, chasing them with the entire glass of water once he handed it over her.

“Wells said you can sleep in his room tonight.”

“Why?” She was confused.

“Because I’m sleeping on the couch. _My sister_ …” He repeated.

She squinted at him, nodding. She set the empty water glass down on the end table again. “Right, of course.” She shifted, laying her legs off the side of the bed. She sniffed, pushing off of the bed, but she was still a little disoriented, despite having slept off most of the alcohol. She stumbled, and he caught her, his arms trapping her against his chest.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” His voice was low and gruff, and he was bent towards her slightly, so his hot breath puffed near her ear. She closed her eyes, gripping the fabric of his shirt in her hands. “You keep throwing yourself at me, Clarke. I’m beginning to think you have a crush.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bellamy. Your voice is grating, and it’s killing my buzz.” She pushed away from him, but she almost fell backwards onto his bed again. “Fuck. I hate rum.” She complained.

“Here.” He moved his hands to her waist, and she jerked, feeling uncomfortable with his hands on her in such away. “Lemme help, okay?” She stared at him, before giving a barely perceptible nod of her head. He turned her, wrapping an arm around her waist and using the other to raise one of hers to drape across her shoulders. After that, he reached around her front again, both hands meeting at her one hip. “C’mon. I made nachos.”

“Yay, nachos!” She crowed excitedly, gripping his shoulder with one hand and his forearm with the other. “Nachos make the best hangover food.”

“I know. Who do you think taught that to Wells?” He winked, guiding her out of his room and into the kitchen.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Drunky Drunk.” A feminine voice called out, making Clarke release Bellamy’s forearm to grip her head.

“Shut up. Your voice is almost as grating as his.” She complained, collapsing into the chair that he’d directed her to.

“Be nice to O, Clarke. She took care of you and your friend all night.” He grunted at her.

“Raven. Where’s Raven?” Clarke’s eyes flew open, and she glanced around, taking in only the girl, _O_ , sitting on the couch with Cindy in her arms. No Wells or Raven in sight.

“Wells drove her home. Thankfully, neither one of you are pukers.” Bellamy said, setting a plate of nachos down in front of her. She dug in, ignoring the gagging sound coming from the couch and the amused chuckle coming from the guy leaning against the kitchen counter. He yawned, running a hand over his face.

“You have work. You should be sleeping.” Clarke said, dropping a cheesy, salsa and guacamole-filled chip onto the plate.

“Yeah, well, someone was passed out in my bed, so…” He shrugged his shoulders, and she frowned.

“I’m sorry. You guys don’t have to take care of me. I’m twenty-four. I’ve been hungover plenty of times since I was fifteen. Did Wells ever tell you that Monty and Jasper brew their own moonshine?” She popped a chip into her mouth. “A little rum is nothing in comparison to a moonshine hangover.”

“A little rum? You two put away nearly too bottles of booze.” Bellamy shook his head with a laugh.

“Yeah, but I drank most of the rum. I don’t like straight bourbon, so Raven drank that. The rum was mine. Moonshine is worse than rum.” She was sounding more and more sober as time went on. She just had a killer headache at the moment. “See, I’m almost sober again. No more slurring.” She winked as she finished the plate of nachos. “Okay, I need a shower. I feel like I swam in Captain Morgan. Good night.” She put the plate in the sink, rinsing it. She then headed over to grab some pajamas to change into.

“O, I’m gonna go get ready for bed, and then you can sleep in my bed, okay?” Bellamy called out to her, leaving the kitchen area.

“Yeah, Cindy and I will be here, chilling.”

Both Clarke and Bellamy headed down the hallway that led to the bathroom and bedrooms. She grabbed his arm before he was able to move into his bedroom. “Wait, Bell,” she blushed, biting her bottom lip. “Thank you for letting me crash in your room. I…” She hesitated. “Raven and I have a strained relationship. Today was the first time we’ve…” She ran a hand through her hair. “Raven and I aren’t friends. Or, at least, we weren’t until today. This was…this was…I don’t know what this was. Starting over, I guess? She put aside a lot of hurt feelings to be there for me after what happened to Finn. I think that is why we both lost control today.” She sniffed. “I’m just sorry that it affected you, and that I kind of dragged your sister into it.” She stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks and sorry.” She pulled away from him quickly, rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door. She didn’t want to think about the surprised look on his face.

* * *

 Bellamy watched Clarke wander into the bathroom, confusion etched on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get rid of the strange feeling in his stomach. He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip, chewing the inside of his cheek. He stepped into his bedroom to gather some clothing for the next work day, along with his towel and the toiletries that he kept in his room, tossing them in a bag to leave by the couch to use in the morning to get ready for work.

He ran a brush through his hair, shoving that in the bag. He then made his way out of his bedroom, entering the hallway at the same time as Clarke exited the bathroom. She had a towel wrapped around her, her hair wet and dripping down her back. She blushed, tightening her hold on the towel in front of her. “I, uh, grabbed shorts instead of long pants. I just figured that I should get longer pants, since I’m crashing with Wells tonight. I don’t like wearing long pants, but I figured hot pants weren’t exactly the type of sleepwear for when you’re sleeping with your best friend. I mean, sleeping in the same bed. Not _sleeping_ with him…that’s just…it’s awkward, okay? Like, I mean, we made out that one time when I was seventeen and he was eighteen, but that was because of that damn moonshine. Monty and Jasper got it flavored to taste less like lighter fluid and more like blueberries, which they know I love.” She blew out a breath.

“Clarke?” He furrowed his brow, letting out a small chuckle. “Hot pants? What the fuck are hot pants?”

“They’re short-shorts.” She shifted the other clothes under the arm that was holding the towel to her frame. There were a pair of black shorts dangling from her fingers. “See? They’re short.” Her eyes widened slightly, as if she suddenly realized just what she was doing and wearing.

He couldn’t help the small burst of laughter that erupted from his lips. “I bet you look good in hot pants.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shut up, Bellamy.” She rolled her eyes. “I look fucking amazing in hot pants.” She had a saucy tone, and there was a twinkle in her eye. She was adorable, and he was once again thinking impure thoughts about the girl—the _naked_ girl—in front of her.

He laughed, stepping closer to her, crowding her so that when she stepped back, she found her back hitting the wall of the hallway. “You’ll have to show me sometime.” She opened her mouth to respond, but they heard someone clearing their throat, making them both jump.

“Yeah, it’s only a matter of time, big brother. Can I brush my teeth?” Octavia shot them an unamused look, and Clarke blushed, turning a pretty shade of pink on her cheeks, neck, and chest. Bellamy wanted to see her flush like that in his bed, as he did the dirtiest things to her body. He winked at her, stepping back. As he headed towards the living room, he glared at his sister.

“Shut the fuck up, O.” He snapped, brushing past her.

Octavia scoffed, muttering a quick goodnight to Clarke before moving into the bathroom. He heard Wells' door slam shut, and he figured that Clarke had gone in there. 

“Hey,” Wells said from where he was leaning against the back of the couch.

“Clarke apparently needs long pants, because she grabbed _hot pants_ by mistake.” He shrugged, and Wells laughed. “Raven get home okay?” Bellamy asked as Wells dug through Clarke’s suitcase to find a pair of black leggings.

“Yeah, she’s good. She was drunkenly telling me that Finn is an asshole, and she hates Clarke still, but she doesn’t hate Clarke. Which, I mean, I didn’t know the story—about her and Finn. Clarke never told me. I hated that she had to keep that from me, you know? Where was I? I’m her best fucking friend, Bellamy. I’m her brother. She was there when my mom died of cancer. I was there for her when her dad died in a work accident. I was there for her when she came out to her parents. I was there when Lexa outed her to the entire high school their senior year. I was there for her when she told her mom that she was dropping out of the pre-med program at Georgetown and enrolling in a double major in art and art history. Her mom freaked out and threatened to not pay for Georgetown, because she was supposed to be a surgeon like she was, not some hippy artist. Hell, I even supported her when she convinced the art department at Georgetown to let her take extra courses to do a dual concentration in painting and drawing. I was there for her when she landed the job as the assistant exhibit executor, where her job was basically to get coffee and run errands for the executor. I was there when she got a semi-promotion and was able to run her own small exhibit for a local artist who was growing a steady fan base. I was there for her through everything, and she couldn’t tell me what was going on with Finn?”

Bellamy stared at Wells. That was the most he’d ever heard Wells say in practically one breath. Wells looked pained, and he gripped the leggings in his hands, brow furrowed. Bellamy swallowed hard, realizing there was a hell of a lot more to Clarke than he’d realized. He had no idea about her dad. Or the shit with the ex-girlfriend. Or the shit with her mom.

“I didn’t tell you, because I felt ashamed.” The two men jumped, and Bellamy looked over his shoulder to see that Clarke was holding a pair of Wells’ gym shorts up at the waist. She pointed to the leggings in Wells’ hands. “Um, thanks for getting me pants.” She shuffled forward, holding tightly to the gym shorts.

“Clarke, you have no reason to be ashamed. Not with me.”

“Wells, I helped a guy cheated on his serious, live-in girlfriend. The first time it happened—sure, I was innocent.” She shook her head. “But, I let him convince me that he was going to end it with Raven, and I continued to sleep with him, despite the fact that he was telling her that he’d ended it with me and was fully committed to her.” She sniffed, and Bellamy felt dirty, like he was intruding on their moment. “I feel horrible about what I did, and I’m not sure that I will be able to make it up to Raven, but I’m going to try. I also feel like shit, because why the hell would I expect him not to cheat on me? I was so stupid to believe that I was the exception. I’m no one’s exception, and I know that.”

“Hey, that’s bullshit.” Bellamy was surprised that he spoke up. Both Wells and Clarke turned to look at him, and it was obvious that he'd shocked them, too. Wells gave him the usual confused look when he said shit out of turn, but Clarke’s face was conflicted—partly confused, but she was also beaming slightly. It made him uncomfortable. “He’s a douche. Sure, you fucked up because you kept fucking around with him, and you admit that, but he’s a dick to keep doing it. Don’t let one dick determine your worth. I dunno. Um, that’s what I tell O, so, um, I guess, it makes sense for you.”

“Well, well, well. Look who’s actually a big softie.” Clarke cooed, earning a scoff and the middle finger from Bellamy.

“Oh, fuck off, _Princess_.” There was no real heat to it when he called her that, so she just rolled her eyes in response. “Alright, enough with the heart to heart. Get the fuck out of here, okay? Some of us need to get up extra early to get to work.”

“Hey, I’ve got work, too.” Wells pointed at him.

“Yeah, but your job is in Philly, not outside of Philly. Get the fuck out.” He pointed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, and Wells laughed, shaking his head. He tossed the leggings onto Clarke’s head as he walked towards the hallway.

“I’ll see you in there, brat.”

“I like to cuddle, kid! Remember that. I’m the big spoon!” Clarke called after him. She turned her gaze onto Bellamy, and the smirk on her lips should’ve scared him, but it only made him smirk back. She casually dropped Wells’ gym shorts, revealing the hot pants that she’d mentioned. She shimmied her hips a little, spinning in a circle, showing off the bottoms of her ass cheeks that weren’t covered by the shorts, and he swallowed hard. “Told you I look fucking amazing in these things.” She shrugged casually before bending over to grab Wells’ pants from the floor, her hand holding the leggings to her shoulder.

“Fucking hell, Princess. I can’t even jerk off in here.” He complained, holding a hand to his chest. “But know that your ass is now firmly in my spank bank.”

“Like it wasn’t already in there.” She scoffed, winking at him. The smirk on her lips disappeared, and she walked over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. His hands immediately found her waist, and he slowly slid them around her back, hugging her back. “I just, um, wanted to say thank you again. You know, for taking care of me? I know we don’t always get along, but, um, I just…you’re not so bad, you know? If it weren’t for that, you know, being a huge asshole all of the time, you’d be pretty fun to hang out with.” She pulled back, so that he could see her face. “You’d also get to see that I can be fun, too.”

“I’m sure you are.” He chuckled. “But, I don't have female friends, Clarke. I do fuck buddies and flings and that’s it. The only girls who are my friends are the girls who date my guy friends.” He casually slid his hand down to grab her ass, grinning when he saw the smirk settle on her lips.

“You’re such a pig.” She broke away from him completely. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I already told you. I’m dating a girl next. Girls are easier to deal with than guys. Besides, I love going down on girls.” He swallowed hard, groaning quietly under his breath. “Night, Bell.” She winked again and then sauntered out of the living room, swinging her hips so that her ass was the only thing on his mind. Fuck, he need to get laid, as soon as possible.


	5. AUTHOR'S NOTE -- REVISION

Hi, all! I just wanted to let you know that I revised the first four chapters, and I'm planning on posting another chapter soon. I will delete the author's note when I go to post the next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what kind of things you'd love to see in this fic to the comments! I'll try to work them in!


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